Worlds Without End: The Prophecy (Book 3)

by Shaun Messick

  “Fire!” King Middoni hollered.

  But the trebuchet didn’t fire. Frustrated, King Middoni whirled around, green spit seeping through his clenched teeth. “I said fi . . .”

  His order trailed off after seeing his two fallen soldiers. His eyes frantically searched for the culprit who had killed his two henchmen. In the confusion, Coen had managed to guide Jokina behind King Middoni.

  Just as he had done before, he clicked his heels and the horse darted for the king’s knees. He was just about to slash his bloody sword through the air when Middoni wheeled around and delivered a bone-crushing backhand to Coen’s body. Coen sailed through the air and crashed into the bottom of Mount Resumpsi’s cliff face. His back hit first, and a sharp, stinging pain erupted throughout his body. He fell another ten meters through thick brush with branches and other foliage ripping through the flesh of his face and neck. He landed with excruciating pain onto the ground, knocking out his wind.

  He tried to struggle for air by rolling over, but he couldn’t. Finally, the air rushed back into his lungs. Choking, he tried to regain his bearings and surveyed his surroundings. He had landed in a thicket of brush and other jungle vegetation. The screams of his dying men rang through his ears. He could hear their screams and the sounds of their bodies landing near his vicinity. His only conclusion was that the giants had reached the ledge, three hundred meters above, where the rest of his men were located, and were now throwing them to their deaths into the valley below.

  Unbearable pain reverberated from his lower back, up through his spine, and into his head. He screamed from its intensity. Another pain shot through his arm. Pulling his head up to look at his arm, nausea quickly set in after seeing the damage. The jagged edge of his forearm’s bone had torn through the flesh. Blood dripped into a small puddle, mixing into the muddy ground. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he all but passed out from the pain and the sight.

  He took a few deep breaths to stay conscious and noticed that he didn’t feel any pain from his waist down through his legs. He tried to pull himself up with his good arm, but his legs wouldn’t respond. He tried again. Nothing. The realization of his predicament cut him like a knife to his heart. He was paralyzed from the waist down and, being unable to move, he would bleed out and die.

  With desperation setting in and tear-filled eyes, he looked above through the thick canopy of the jungle trees and made out the single star of Terresta Ok Ni. Closing his eyes, he did the only thing he could think of to save his life. He prayed to the goddess of protection. “Oh, Terresta Ok Ni, why hast thou forsaken us? Were we not meant, as a species, to rule and reign on this planet? The gods, our creators, placed us here. What are we supposed to do? The giants . . . they are too powerful. Oh, why hast thou allowed them to conquer us? Is it because we have lost fa—”

  Coen was startled from his prayer by the sound of coughing from a nearby tree. “Who-Who’s there?”

  “C-Coen, i-is that you?”

  Recognizing the voice of his best friend, Coen ignored the pain and gathered all of the energy he could muster. Using his good arm, he flipped himself over to his stomach and looked through the darkness. Just a few feet away, he saw the silhouette of Rurik’s body propped up against a tree. “Rurik, is that you?”

  “Y-yes.” Rurik coughed. “B-but I don’t know how much longer I will last.”

  Gritting his teeth in pain, Coen pulled himself through the mud and brush to his fallen friend. Light from the battle fires above penetrated through the thick canopy, allowing Coen to see his friend. His heart sank.

  A branch had penetrated through Rurik’s back and was now sticking about a foot out of his stomach. Half of Rurik’s face was gone, stripped of its flesh. He could see the flecks of white from his cheekbone through the thick, dried blood. Coen scanned the rest of his body, at least what was left of it. Rurik’s legs had been completely ripped from their sockets.

  Rurik let out a small chuckle followed by a hacking cough with blood spattering out. “Y-yeah. . . . It d-doesn’t look good. B-but the pain is gone.”

  Coen didn’t know what to say. His best friend in life, the man with whom he had grown up, was about to die, and it tore him to his very soul. In fact, the emotional pain of seeing Rurik masked the intolerable torment blasting through the upper portion of his body from his broken back. The only thing he could think of doing was to reach out and take his friend’s hand for comfort.

  Despite the pain, he pulled himself closer to Rurik, reached out, and squeezed his hand. Rurik moved his fingers a little. It was obvious he was too weak to return the gesture. “C-Coen, p-p-promise me you will take care of Abadani. P-promise me.”

  Tears began to stream from Coen’s eyes. The salt penetrated the cuts on his face, causing even more discomfort. He looked back up into his friend’s green eyes. Nodding, he said, “I promise, Rurik. I love Abadani like my own son. He is our future.”

  Rurik smiled warmly as if he was holding on to make sure his son would be taken care of. He tried to speak again, but the words didn’t come. His soul was gone now, leaving what was left of his body; his eyes wide open with the same warm smile spread across his face.

  Coen reached up in excruciating pain and closed his dear friend’s eyes, leaving streaks of mud and blood. “Rest well, my friend.”

  He dropped his head into the mud. His strength was beginning to fade. He was desperate, knowing that this was it. There was no possible way he was going to make it out of this alive, especially in his condition. His heart ached for his wife, Abadani, and for what was left of his people.

  Mustering just enough strength, he flipped his body back over, allowing him to gaze up through the canopy of trees. But the star he was looking for was covered with a thick cloud of smoke and ash from the battle.

  The battle. The thought brought him back to his men on the ledge above. But the night was silent, almost as if a blanket of death had smothered the entire area. He continued to listen as the foliage began to stir and the canopy of trees swayed back and forth. He could hear the grunting of a giant rustling through the brush. A colossal hand swept down, touching the ground only a few meters away.

  Coen closed his eyes to play dead.

  “Ah. There he is,” King Middoni bellowed as he clutched Coen in his grip, pulling him out of the thick brush and trees.

  “Is he dead?” another giant asked.

  The hot stench of blood and rot washed over Coen’s face as King Middoni shook him. A scream slipped through Coen’s lips as sharp pains shot through his broken arm and back.

  “No, he’s alive.”

  Coen opened his eyes, meeting the callous eyes of his enemy.

  An evil smile of victory spread across King Middoni’s face, exposing his sharp teeth. “I am glad to see that you are still with us, Coen. I wanted you alive to see this.” The giant king then shot his hand forward, turning Coen to face Mount Resumpsi. The pain pulsating through Coen’s body was insufferable. “Look, Coen. Your men are all dead.”

  King Middoni then turned Coen around, within a few inches of his face. “You, Coen Chast, are all that remains of your species.” The king paused as if he was hiding something. “At least, the last adult male. You see, Coen, my lieutenants have found your so-called safe room, hidden snugly under your village . . . Let’s just say that your wife, the women, and children will make fine slaves for me and my people.”

  *****

  Stinging hot ash poured over Coen’s face. His flesh felt as if it was melting off of his face. He continued to fade in and out of consciousness. When he did open his eyes, all he thought he could see was a burning building, but he wasn’t sure. His vision was blurred. What was more, he had no idea if he was dead or alive.

  Again, the burning ash buried his face, the smoke choking the air from his lungs. The only relief he had from the heat that charred his face was the touch of a wet muzzle brushing along his cheek. Groggily, he opened his eyes. The blurred image of Jokina stood above him, her muzzle ca
ressing his face.

  Coen cracked a small smile. “Hey, girl,” he said weakly as he reached up and stroked her mane.

  The mare grumbled with urgency, becoming more aggressive.

  “What is it, girl?”

  The horse stamped her hoof next to Coen’s body and tilted her head toward the blazing fire. By this time, Coen’s eyes had regained their focus and he looked ahead. What he saw nearly caused his heart to sink to his stomach. His entire village was ablaze. Suddenly, he remembered what King Middoni had said just before he lost consciousness. “Sierrone! No!” he shouted as he tried to pull himself up. Excruciating pain exploded through his back, and his legs still wouldn’t function. In frustration, he pounded his fist into the ground.

  Jokina became more aggressive, trying to push him away from the blaze. Coen knew he had to get away as well. The burns on his face indicated so. He grabbed Jokina’s reins with his good hand. “Okay, girl. Pull me out of here.”

  The mare began to move backwards slowly. Soon, Coen felt the chill of the night air. Once they were far enough away from the flames, Jokina crouched as low to the ground as she could. Knowing what she had in mind, Coen clutched the saddle and pulled his injured body up and over it. Wailing in pain, and with one hand, he managed to pull one leg over the saddle. He still couldn’t sit up straight. Exhausted, he laid his cheek onto Jokina’s soft mane. “Okay, girl. Take me to Sierrone.”

  The horse darted toward Mount Resumpsi. As she galloped, it took every ounce of strength Coen could muster to tolerate the pain and to keep himself steady in the saddle upon her back. He didn’t know how long he could hold on. But he had to. He needed to know if Sierrone was dead or alive. After a few more agonizing minutes, they finally reached the base of the mount. They were at the foot of the very trail he had descended from after the giants destroyed the ledge above.

  A deep laugh echoed through the valley. It was King Middoni’s voice. He and his soldiers were celebrating their spoils. The smell of charred flesh penetrated Coen’s senses. The thought upon what Middoni and his giants feasted upon caused him to nearly vomit. He took in a few deep breaths and regained his senses. He pulled on Jokina’s left rein. “This way, girl. We have to find out if he has Sierrone.”

  The mare was about to turn and move toward the giants’ voices when another giant ran right past them. He had come from another trail on the far side of the mount that led up the mountainside. In his haste, the giant failed to see Jokina and Coen. They followed the giant around the canopy of trees that Coen had crashed through after King Middoni had thrown him against the cliff face and were able to stay out of sight while the giant ran toward the king.

  “Master!” the giant bellowed.

  King Middoni whirled around, holding what looked like the charred remains of a human leg. “What is it?”

  The giant skidded to a stop, panting. “M-my Lord, the women and children are secure in the cave above,” he said, pointing to the ledge above where Coen’s archers had been.

  “Good,” Middoni replied. “Have you found an entrance to the hollow?”

  The giant lowered his head in shame. “No, my Lord . . .” He hesitated. “I-I searched everywhere within that cave, and did not find an entrance. C-could it be that this legend that you speak of is just that . . . a legend?”

  King Middoni dropped the charred leg and narrowed his eyes. His glare was cold and ruthless as he stepped toward his subordinate. He stopped within inches of the other giant’s face. There was a long moment of silence as the other giants who were celebrating stopped and turned their gazes toward their leader. The tension was intense. King Middoni then let out a bellowing laugh. “Ah, Shado,” he said, placing his hand upon Shado’s shoulder. “The legend is true. Come celebrate with us, and after we dine, you will see that the legend is true.”

  As King Middoni and his minions went back to celebrate their spoils, Coen pulled on Jokina’s reins, turning her in the direction of the other trail that he knew would lead to where Sierrone and the rest of his people were located. Jokina began to make her way up the trail as deep laughter from the giants echoed through the valley. Coen had no idea how long the trek would take, so he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to help make the pain bearable. He immediately slipped into unconsciousness.

  The soft cries of adult women and the wails of children awoke Coen from his painful slumber. Jokina had stopped on the ledge where his archers had been and in front of the cave. He looked down to the valley below as the sun began to rise in the east. The giants were still enthralled in celebration. Scanning the giants, he tried to locate King Middoni, but he was too high up to make out anyone in particular. Turning back to face the cave, he called for Sierrone.

  The soft, muffled cries began to cease, as well as the cries of the children. Coen watched as a head popped out from the darkness of the cave. It was Sierrone. Blood trickled from down her face as the result of an ugly gash along her forehead. “Coen!” she called as she rushed toward him.

  In excruciating pain, Coen managed to bury his head into her bosom as she pulled him down from Jokina. The couple fell to the stone floor of the ledge, and Coen could feel Sierrone’s warm tears on his face. “W-we need to leave this place now, Sierrone,” Coen said with urgency.

  After assessing his injuries, Sierrone shook her head. “How, Coen? You are not well enough to move. It is done. The giants have won.”

  Coen looked into the blue eyes of his wife and caressed her cheek with the back of his bloody hand. “No, my love. As long as we live, there is always hope.”

  Sierrone tried to give a consoling smile as she signaled for two other women to help bring her husband into the cave. The women, along with Abadani, walked cautiously out of the cave. They managed to get Coen’s arms over the shoulders of Sierrone and another woman and began to drag him to the cave.

  Just before they entered, a roaring laugh emanated from directly behind them. Coen’s eyes flashed open and Sierrone and the other woman froze. Coen knew who it was. “Turn me around,” he demanded.

  Still holding him up, Sierrone and the woman turned him to face King Middoni. The giant king knelt on one knee, his giant head directly in line with their line of sight. Jokina whinnied and charged toward the giant.

  “Jokina! No!” Coen hollered.

  But it was too late. Without flinching, King Middoni backhanded the mare. Coen cringed from the bone-crushing impact as Jokina was launched off the ledge, plummeting to her death in the valley below.

  With an evil smile spread along his face, King Middoni reached out and clutched Coen away from the two women. Sierrone scratched and clawed as best she could to protect her husband, but the giant king brushed her off like an annoying fly.

  Standing to his full height, Middoni grabbed Coen with both hands and looked at Sierrone. “My dear Sierrone, watch now as your husband dies.”

  The last thing Coen remembered was the shrill scream of his wife as King Middoni snapped his back, and then everything went dark.

  *****

  Sierrone’s shoulders heaved up and down as she sobbed uncontrollably over her husband’s body. She held his head in her lap. Vailar, their housemaid, who had helped Sierrone bring her husband’s body into the cave, knelt beside her, massaging her shoulders for comfort. Abadani stood next to her with tears streaming down his face. Within the cave were three other woman and two children, a boy and girl, both about two years of age. This was all that was left of the human race on Gnolom.

  “What will the giants do with us?” Vailar asked.

  Sierrone placed her hand on Vailar’s hand. “They will most likely make us slaves. When we die, they will breed the children. Humans will now be bred as slaves for the giants on Gnolom.”

  Vailar stopped massaging Sierrone’s shoulders. She quickly retreated to a spot deeper in the cave, sat down, and began to sob. Abadani knelt down beside Coen’s body and turned to look at Sierrone with tear-filled eyes. “I am scared.”

  Sierrone smiled warmly at
the child. She reached out and stroked his soft cheek with the back of her hand. Abadani was all she had left. She didn’t know what to say. There were no words that could comfort them in this, their moment of despair.

  As she stared into Abadani’s eyes, a soft blue light began to glow off of his face. Her eyes trailed off of Abadani to the source of the light. There, hovering above the feet of her dead husband, was a blue orb of light. As she stared at it, a feeling of peace enveloped her. Soon, Abadani and the other women and children in the cave were staring at the orb, its soft blue glow giving comfort to all of them.

  Abadani reached out with his finger, trying to touch the light. Sierrone’s first instinct was to reach out and grab his hand to stop him, but something told her not to. The boy’s finger went through the orb. Then he quickly retreated his hand. “I-it is warm and makes me feel good,” he said with a slight smile on his face.

  Sierrone nodded in agreement as the orb slowly hovered toward her. It was now a few inches in front of her eyes, as if it wanted to communicate. She could feel its warmth. Feelings of love, peace, and hope resonated throughout her body. Somehow, some way, she knew that the orb was speaking to her soul. Go to the back of the cave, a voice whispered in her mind.

  At first, the words didn’t register. She continued to stare at the orb when she heard the voice again. Slowly, she turned her head and watched as the orb hovered its way to the back of the cave. It stopped at a spot in front of the rock wall. With the light from the orb, she was able to see the wall in more detail. It was gigantic, taller than King Middoni, and it was covered in what looked like shiny black shale.